XF-41: Phantom Squadron

XF-41: Phantom Squadron

Somewhere in the South Pacific

Major Duncan swayed on the rolling deck of the aircraft carrier U.S.S. Hector. He stared off the 

port bow, where a tiny shape approached. The salty sea air stung his eyes. Behind him the sun was 

rising out of the ocean in a pale of spray. The aircraft was less than three thousand yards away now and Duncan could make out it's unique V-shaped fuselage. As it lined up to land the plane turned on its lights. The major smiled as the aircraft suddenly flew straight up, stopped in mid-air and swooped down like a paper plane to land effortlessly on the bucking carrier deck.

A sturdy figure rose from the cockpit and climbed stiffly down the ladder that groundcrew had deployed. Major Duncan jogged across the deck. The chilly morning wind whipped through him despite his wool-lined jacket, thick pants and boots. The figure staggered against the wind to meet him and pounded him on the back. "Man Duncan, it's colder than a wet Christmas up there, but I love flying that plane." Duncan's stiff, stubbly face creased into a smile. "I know what you mean Captain."

He glanced behind his friend's back at the strange, tailess aircraft. "The XF-41 is one strange bird, but it can pull a turn like nothing I've ever seen. I can turn so tight in it that I get queasy." Captain Charles Baker, or "Chum" as the squadron called him, began pacing the deck, suddenly sober. 

"Yeah, it can turn tight all right. Several test pilots died after blacking out on a tight turn, pulling to many G's. We got lucky that this plane ever got out of the laboratory." Duncan fell in step alongside Chum. "Another thing about that plane, you can fly it straight up and it won't ever stop. Doesn't stall or anything, just keeps going up. It's incredible, like the air currents don't even touch it." Chum reached the barracks door. "Yep, Incredible machine, make sure those powder boys don't overfill my 

fuel tanks." And he was gone.

Duncan leaned against the superstructure, sheltered from the worst of the wind, and glanced at the beautiful sunset. His blue eyes narrowed. A tiny speck rose from the sun-drenched sea. The carrier's radar seemed to see it at the same instant because alarms began blaring across the deck. Groundcrew 

sprang out of hatches and raced across the deck. Duncan slipped through the door and steel hallways crowded with red lights and piping towards the briefing room.

A dozen pilots met him there, buckling on webgear and harnesses. The squadron's chief officer, Burt 

Bannister, stood at the chalkboard. "Listen up boys. We have a problem. Nobody but the occasional fishing boat is supposed to be crazy enough to sail this far south. But some lost Japanese patrol plane has been spotted. Speed is everything. Our escorting Wildcat fighters are not fueled yet. So I am deploying  Phantom Squadron to take down that plane before it can tell the enemy anything. Remember

how important it is to keep these new planes secret. They could change the war. You think you can catch that nosy pontoon-scooter?" "Yes Sir" echoed the pilots.

Duncan charged back on deck and sprinted to his XF-41. He patted the blue sparrow painted on the nose for luck and jumped into the cockpit. He skipped the takeoff checklist, this was an emergency.

Goggles on, oxygen tank and electric heating plugged in, windshield lowered, fuel mixture full rich. He had done this too many times to forget anything. The twin engines roared to life as the groundcrew spun the props. Duncan wiped his foggy cockpit glass and taxied over to the takeoff strip. His XF-41 lurched across the icy deck, followed by the other four planes of Phantom Squadron.

Takeoff. Major Duncan swooped off of the deck and sailed into the blue sky, his controls throbbing and shaking from the twin engines. His four-plane command lined up behind him, sweeping the skies for the scout plane. Duncan raced northeast, the last known direction of their target. 

At 7:43 AM they saw it, gliding across the clouds. Duncan opened his throttle all the way. Slowly, so slowly it seemed, they drew closer. The scout must have seen them. It banked away and turned west.

Duncan wondered what the enemy pilot must be thinking. The five XF-41's made a strange sight, some sort of bat, not your usual bird. Scary. Duncan shook his head, to clear it. He needed to focus on the mission.

Duncan could clearly make out the blood red rising sun insignia on the scout's wings now. He glanced down the gunsights and fired a burst of shells from the twin canons mounted in the XF-41's nose. The bright stream of tracers fell short. Patience, Duncan scolded himself, wait until you can't miss.

Duncan maneuvered his flight until they were right above the fleeing scout plane. He gripped his radio, palms sweaty inside his leather gloves. "O.K. Phantom's, lets go get 'em." The Major pushed forward his stick and his plane responded instantly, swooping down on his target. A quick burst of shells and he raced past the enemy plane. One after another his flight followed him in. Purple shell bursts rippled through the scout. It's pontoon was blown off and whirled down to the water. One of the targets wings was shredded, it's tail rudders torn off. Somehow the scout kept flying, sweeping and straggling through the sky. 

Duncan came for a final pass from below, Flying straight up. This is why he became a pilot, to do the things that nobody else could, the thrilling feelings, of flying upside down, of rolling and even going straight up. Major Duncan pulled the trigger. The purple puffs of doom followed the scout as it dove in a desperate bid to survive. Duncan followed, and overshot his target. He yanked back the stick. The whole plane shuddered, diving towards the rolling sea. For an instant He thought that the ailerons had jammed. Then the XF-41 curved upwards, the wings slicing white trails in the wind. Duncan felt faint, 8 G's pushing his head back into the seat. His plane shuddered straight, his eyes cleared and he was flying point-blank towards the enemy scout. Duncan squeezed the trigger and rolled his plane to the side. The enemy scout whooshed past him, exploded into flaming debris and hit the Pacific Ocean in a burst of spray.

Duncan and his flight headed home. He removed his goggles to wipe them clear of fog. It was still extremely cold in this cockpit and the controls were stiff. But he would not trade it for a seat in any other plane in the world. This plane couldn't carry many guns, or fly very far, or fly very fast. But it 

could turn like no other. It was just plain FUN to fly.

Phantom Squadron settled in for their approach and one by one touched down on the aircraft carrier Hector. Duncan came to a stop, shut down the engines and raised the cockpit. He stood, stretching, the salty air stinging his eyes, wind rumpling his flightsuit, and gazed into the Pacific sunrise.